One night during Chris Tinney’s rookie year as an officer, he lost his right eye in a warehouse shootout. It was the luckiest moment of his career.

The administration wing of the museum was off-limits to patrons. Naked eyes could not see behind those closed doors. The enhanced prosthetic inside of Chris’s right orbit, however, had no such limitations. His infrared vision meant that there was no need to sneak around.

When the device was first installed, his depth perception when using this particular feature was crude. He was unable to differentiate between small children and distant adults. Within months, he came to understand the nuances in the silhouettes he viewed -- the brighter someone shined, the closer they were.

The brightest figure he saw now behind the wall separating the museum from the administration was tall and skinny, pacing back and forth and talking quickly into her hand, which probably held a communicator. He recognized the profile as Katelyn Garden’s from their encounter minutes earlier. Unfortunately, Chris lost only an eye and not an ear in that shootout ten years ago.

A semi-transparent wall separated her office from the next, where two smaller figures were sitting with their heads bowed. His prey spotted, Chris blended into the crowd and eased into the hallway toward the office. The hall itself was buzzing with workers who were busy talking on their own communicators to notice an outsider in prohibited territory.

The door to the office holding the culprits he was after was made of solid alloy. A keypad was installed where the knob should have been. As a Commonwealth Lieutenant, Chris was given a master security key card, capable of undoing any electronic or magnetic lock in the Commonwealth. He didn’t need to sneak around; however much they administrators of the museum may not wish to have him investigating, he had the right to inquire into publicly-owned businesses, and the Sapien Museum of History and Art had been funded by the taxpayers’ dime since its inception.

He opened the door, revealing a dark and cold holding room with concrete on all sides. The walls felt like they were closing in. Why was there a holding cell in a museum? And how long had the two juveniles he now joined been sitting there, on a stone bench against the wall?

One of the boys peered up at him, the dim lights highlighting his red hair and freckled nose. "They said the police weren’t coming," he said. "They changed their mind."

Chris sat on the bench opposite them. "I’m not here to arrest you for the thefts," he said. "I’m just curious as to why the manager of this museum decided to hold you two here if she did not want you arrested."

Both boys were now looking down at the ground, quiet. Chris sighed. Soon enough, someone else would be joining them. Perhaps an attorney by order of one of their parents, telling the kids they did not have stay. Or, perhaps, the museum manager, who could kick up enough of a fuss that he would never find out what had Freya so suspicious.

"I promise that nothing you say will leave this room," he said. Somewhat of a lie, yes, but more of the truth. Whatever information he uncovered would never be linked back to the boys. He didn’t even want to know their names lest the information be stolen from his mind. "I just need to know your version of the story."

The redheaded boy finally, slowly, lifted his head, and he began to speak.

__

What brought them to this point? They were good kids, and smart, too. Teachers bragged on them and their grades testified that it was not empty praise. But there were demons in their lives, and sometimes those demons won.

Sapien History was a required unit in schools. In their school, this included a visit to the Sapien Museum of History and Art in Lions, a short train ride away from their neighborhood. In that same neighborhood a young girl had been murdered last week, the latest in a series of violence in a part of town that had never known peace.

Alton wanted a new virtual reality headset, the kind that the rich kids on the other side of town wore during recess. At first, he’d considered stealing from one of them, but he was small and wiry and such an action would likely end up in a hospital bill his mother could not afford to pay.

Linc was Alton’s next door neighbor and best friend. The night before the field trip, Alton was in his bedroom and could hear glass crashing from Linc’s house. He opened his window and allowed his friend to climb through. An inch-wide cut spread across his right temple and from the edge a small crimson teardrop fell slowly.

"Dad got fired," Linc said.

Alton did not know what Linc’s father did. They didn’t talk about the old man much. Usually when Alton came to visit, he was passed out on the recliner in the living room in front of a small, ancient television. Linc didn’t have a mother, and Alton did not know why, nor did he ever ask. He had an older brother who showed up once a month in the form of a check that covered rent and nothing else. Alton supposed that was more than the old man deserved.

There was no one else living in that house.

Alton laid a blanket down on the floor next to his bed. That was for himself. The small cot was for Linc when he came over; it wouldn’t fit the two of them.

They discussed the field trip they’d be taking and how much money people paid for the artifacts they would see. Linc had been intending to skip the trip altogether, but the thought of a possible money grab was enough to motivate him. Alton wanted to a new virtual reality headset; Linc wanted to eat something other than stale, dry cereal.

Linc’s uncle owned an illegal pawn shop the next street over; he was also a thief, and a good one at that. Alton’s mother had warned him throughout his life to stay away from the man -- he was dangerous. Until this night, Alton had listened to her. Linc had already called him, though. Linc already had a plan.

In the morning, instead of taking the train to the museum like most of the other students, Linc’s uncle -- his name was Galen -- drove the two of them in his flatbed truck. Once inside, Alton and Linc did not have to do much other than to distract the guards by acting like young boys do -- playfighting and threatening to damage the exhibits. Galen used the time they bought to find his way to the room where the museum kept items that were not currently on display.

Neither Alton nor Linc knew how he came by the means to break into that room, but Galen was an accomplished thief. He’d yet to be caught.

Now, before they left that morning, Galen had given the boys bracelets to wear, allowing them to find each other inside the museum should they get separated. Around the time the kids were lining up to go to lunch, he still hadn’t returned.

Linc checked his mini-tab, and Alton excused himself to the restroom. When he reached the curator’s room, he expected Galen to be forcing as many items as he could into his bag. Instead, Galen stood still, staring at something on the table. Slowly, carefully, Alton approached.

"We shouldn’t be here," Galen said, his head not moving. "We should never have come."

Galen was a dangerous man; someone other people feared. Alton knew the stories. Yet, Galen’s fear was palpable in his voice. He’d stumbled upon something that could make the toughest of men tremble.

A binder.

Before Alton could look at what Galen had read, footsteps raced down the hall and into the room. Linc caught his breath as he spoke. "We need to go," he said. "Now."

Galen shoved the binder into his bag. "Go with your class," he said. "Meet me at home after school." Then Galen escaped through the emergency exit, setting off the alarms. The boys didn’t make it out of the room.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three